


The hunt

by Sweetlit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Gore, Epistolary, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Mystery, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Paris (City), Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetlit/pseuds/Sweetlit
Summary: What starts as a furious search against a dangerous vampire, has more than one unexpected turn. . .





	1. Paris, saturday july 7th, 2001

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: blood and suicide mentions
> 
> this is a translation of my Italian work "sulle orme del vampiro", please forgive my bad English since it's not my first language!

My dear Alex,  
After a nerve-wracking flight and a long, endless wait at the airport, I finally reached my destination.  
I'm in Paris.  
I must say that, after all these years of distance, I had forgotten its rare beauty: getting off the taxi and finding myself surrounded by monuments and beautiful buildings with their pastel shades was an indescribable emotion.  
The air you breathe here seems to be different, I swear. I hope that you will be able to reach me soon, and that your business at home won't keep you too busy, to be able to see this with your own eyes.  
I settled down, as you can see from the header of the card, in a hotel near the Opera, to which you can freely address your letters: the girl at the reception, nice and kind, but with a rather horrible accent, assured me that they will be promptly delivered.  
Funny how, in modern times, we are still forced to use pen and paper to communicate! After all, if this is really the safest way for us to do it, then I welcome it.  
As soon as I close and set up this letter, I'll take the subway and catch a ride to the Rive Gauche, to see if I can find a souvenir to George.  
Write to me soon with news, please.  
Yours  
David


	2. Paris, tuesday july 10th 2001

My dear Alex,  
Of course I haven't forgotten the purpose of my mission here, but I could not certainly throw myself into the streets without having first known, or rather remembered in part, the city!  
In any case, after the beautiful Saturday afternoon spent along the Seine, the weather has unfortunately worsened because of a fierce rain raging without giving a sign of wanting to stop, preventing me from continuing the search.  
I thank you for the news you sent me, but it's not enough for my inspection: as you well know, Paris is a big city, not to say a huge one, so it's necessary to restrict the investigations to a more limited field.  
The people here are shy and avoid questions, and my French is no longer what it used to be, so I can't be of much help to you: all I've discovered are some ancient superstitions about the area of the Montparnasse cemetery, but they can't be defined as recent or current. I'll keep questioning, hoping to find the right person.  
If only we knew where to look. . .  
So George is feeling better, then? I'm glad to hear it, when I left him he was really in a very bad state, but we have to understand, after the fate his poor brother had to suffer. . .  
Please keep me posted on his condition, you know how much I care about him.  
My room is unfortunately located in a bad place: it is an attic, in direct contact with the roof, and as this may be extremely romantic -in the evening you can enjoy an enchanting spectacle from the terrace- , doesn't comfort me in taking sleep.  
I sleep with the dresser pulled against the French window: I'm sure that the other customers, sooner or later, will call the police for the infernal sounds I'm causing!  
But if everyone had seen what we saw, they would certainly understand. . .  
Now I leave you, it seems that the sky has decided to give us a break: I will take advantage of it to sit in a cafe, eat something and mail you this second letter.

Take care of yourself, and George.  
Always your  
David.


	3. Paris, wednesday july 11th 2001

Dear Alex,   
I really can't believe what I saw!   
I am writing to you without having received your reply yet, of course, since I sent you my letter only last night, but I must absolutely let you know about my last discovery: last night I went out to find a comfortable cafe where I could eat, and after walking through the alleys, I came across a nice place that is located right between Rue de Rome and Boulevard Haussmann.   
There I was given an internal table right in front of a huge window, which dominated the entire intersection.   
I had arrived at the end of my delicious dinner, and I was enjoying a delicious baked cream, when the background music suddenly changed into a melancholic and ancestral melody: I can not explain how, but the atmosphere was completely overturned. There was clearly a presence that differed from all the others, strong and oppressive.   
I turned around, taking a distracted look across the boulevard.   
It was HIM, Alex. I'm sure of it.   
He was in a black suit, with a summer coat that went down his legs as they were in fashion long ago, his hair disheveled by the strong wind.   
He stared right into my eyes and it was as if he had spoken to me, without moving his lips.   
I don't think I've ever been so afraid in my life: he knew I was there and that I was looking for him.   
After that, he disappeared, he vanished into nothingness as he had come, and the music, Christ Alex, even the music, returned to the modern, REAL one!   
To get back, I called a cab. I was too terrified to walk.   
The night was a real nightmare, I did not close my eyes for a single moment, even though I had always moved the dresser against the window, however, seeing the danger so tangible, I would not feel comfortable even if buried twenty meters below ground level!   
Henry's dead face was dancing in front of me.  
The important thing is (and we both know it, don't we?) only one: he's HERE, Alex, he's really here.   
Now we just have to decide how to act.   
Write me soon.   
Your (shocked and terrified) friend,   
David


	4. Paris, friday july 13th, 2001

Dearest Alex,   
I don't know how to express the emotions that your letter caused me.   
To begin with, don't feel sorry for me: I'm fine, I'm alive and healthy and I carefully avoid leaving my room in the evening, postponing searches until the morning itself.   
I asked the kind girl at the reception if she could change my room, given the terrible proximity that this has to the roof, which does not leave me at all quiet, and she replied -or better, stuttered, since she speaks our language as well as George hers- that she will do everything possible to please me. Tomorrow is a national holiday, and the hotels are full of tourists eager to see the famous parade of July 14th.   
Speaking of George, I was hoping you wouldn't tell him anything, given the still precarious conditions of his health. . . It was just a fleeting vision after all, and we know how much our friend likes to play cat and mouse. He wanted me to see him, Alex, of that I'm sure, he wanted us to know for sure that he's here, to warn us.   
I don't know what his plan is, but you can be sure that it won't be fear that will stop me.   
I'm still checking the cemeteries, one after the other, day after day, but there's no trace of him: I wonder he's having fun letting me run from one end of the city to the other and that he's changed his hiding place, but where else could a vampire rest? If you have any ideas about that, please tell me.   
I'm worried: the influx of people in tomorrow's parade will certainly attract him, like a moth is attracted by a strong light source. . . I don't dare to think about what will happen. Memories of poor Henry haunts me every time I fall asleep.   
I've lost the habit of sleeping in the daytime, you know? I now limit myself to a few short naps in the afternoon, until sunset. I think I'm gonna lose my mind eventually.  
The sun is setting again. You should see it, Alex, it's a real riot of colors: never seen a sky more beautiful than this, really, every night changes tone like a painter who cleans and refurbishes his palette to paint a new picture. This evening it is of a brilliant amaranth mixed with violet, while the clouds are of a dark dark blue.   
Will it be an indication of imminent misfortune? Who knows? I have a strange, horrible feeling. . .   
I feel rather alone, to be honest, especially during my nightly vigil. . . I need someone to talk to and share the tension, you know how nerve-wracking this is, since you feel it too every night.   
I'll leave you now. How much space I've wasted on vain sentimentality! But, alas, that's all there is for now.   
I'll see you soon. Let George write to me as soon as he gets his strength back.   
Always your   
David


	5. Paris, saturday july 14th, 2001

Dear Alex,   
My dullness is almost unbelievable.   
As has already happened, I am writing to you without yet having your answer in my hands, but the facts that I am going to present you now are well worth noting: this morning the national parade took place, which has spread throughout Paris.   
I already wrote to you yesterday that I had a bad feeling in my body, and in fact it came true: to begin with, the incomprehensible girl at the reception -her name is Marie, and tell me if it is not a sign- announced me, immediately after breakfast and shortly before I left, that I could absolutely not change my room for at least the next three days.   
Try to understand me, but from my point of view THREE nights, or rather FOUR with today, are a HUGE gap!   
After this unpleasant event, which seriously endangers my already precariously exposed life, I quickly threw myself into the street, through secondary roads, trying to avoid the crowd of the parade.   
I spent hours of pilgrimage through the neighborhoods, wandering, asking, searching, until, finally, I received a positive answer: a little girl, gracious and courteous, no more than thirteen years old, nodded to the crude description I gave her of our vampire.   
She recognized him, and she also showed me where to find him.   
We were fools, Alex, because with all the cemeteries that we had to search through, we did not think to go and look at the most obvious place: near Notre-Dame, at the Ile of St Louis.   
Logical, isn't it? So much so that it seems impossible. . .   
Anyway, once I knew the place, I ran to the subway, determined to make the most of the last hours of light, despite a strong tiredness tried to prevent me - it's more than 24 hours that I don't close my eyes-, and here comes the first of many problems.   
I made a mistake in picking the line.   
Don't ask me how, please, because I also ignore it, but when I realized the mistake made, I had already reached the other end, far away from my hotel.   
I tried to fix it as soon as possible, but the next lines were overflowing with people coming back from work or going to a party, so by the time I arrived at the Opera, the sun had already hidden behind the mountains.   
The worst moment was to be able to get back to the hotel in one piece: the taxis seemed to have disappeared from the face of the Earth, so I had to walk.   
A real nightmare, the little road leading to the hotel is terribly sinister at night, and the attics of the other condominiums seemed to be populated by shadows of demons.   
I could hear him with me at every step, Alex, I could hear his red eyes staring at me ravenously and following me silently back to my room, I could hear strange noises coming from the roofs and I could see silhouettes sneaking fast in the dark.   
It was horrible, there wasn't a second when I didn't think I was dead, and, when I finally met the doorman and crossed the front door of the hotel, it was like going out of a lake and being able to breathe again.   
Even the cold twilight of the room and the not at all welcoming upholstery of the walls have shown solidarity and understanding with my uncontrollable tremor.   
Can you imagine? The biggest nonsense I've ever done was almost about to cost me my life!   
And to say that Henry's death should have taught me something. . .   
Anyway, now we know where he's hiding. I'll go and find him tomorrow morning.   
I'll write to George now, as you suggested, and we'll see if he can give me some good advice.   
Have mercy on your poor friend, who begins to suffer the first signs of age.   
I'm including the sheet for George. . . if I wasn't afraid that HE could trace or even intercept the call, I'd tell you to phone me. . . but unfortunately it's not possible, so write to me as soon as you can.   
Yours (foolish and frightened)   
David

Dear, dear George,   
I hear you've finally gotten better!   
Good, very good, you know how much I care about your health - you know you're like a brother to me.   
I'm sure Alex will be kind enough to tell you all my misadventures, so I won't repeat myself by wasting space here, which I prefer to occupy instead by talking about Henry.   
It's been two months now (tomorrow, exactly) that your dear brother has been missing, because of that ruthless murderer that we are chasing from one end of Europe to the other.   
I perfectly understand the pain you must have felt, and I'm only sorry that the adverse circumstances have not allowed us to hold this conversation sooner.   
Henry was a brave man, to the very end, and finding him in the conditions in which I had the misfortune to find him - I, I alone - was a horrible hit to us all.   
You should know that he was my dearest friend, an unprecedented genius, whom I will never forget, nor I will never forget what he did for me: he saved my life.   
I know that these words of mine will make you sad, but I felt the need to express them to you, together with my deepest condolences, which I haven't yet had the honour of doing you.   
That THING, whatever freak of nature it is, MUST be eliminated, and I swear to you here that I will do everything I can to erase it from the face of the Earth. He'll pay for Henry's death and the physical and moral pain he caused you.   
Tomorrow, and I've already mentioned this to Alex, but I'll tell you again as a commitment to you, I'll go to his hiding place, because I'll FIND him, George, and I'll give him back all the evil he poured on us.   
I won't fail, you can rest assured.  
With this oath I end this brief letter of mine for you: the sun is finally about to rise, and it's time for me to set out. . . or rather, to HUNT.   
Take care of your health, please, Alex and I both need you to be strong.   
Tell our common friend not to be concerned for me, and that I cannot wait beyond his departure to complete the mission: the Devil must be uprooted immediately from his garden, or he will continue to reap victims as he has done so far.   
Goodbye, George.   
Pray for me, you who have the Faith.   
Your most devoted  
David


	6. Paris, 17 (18th?) remainings data illegible

Alex.   
Two days have passed since the last letter I sent you, and I have here your and George's with your total disagreement for my crazy act.   
Crazy for real.   
I didn't have the strength to lift my pen to write to you before, and I don't even know how to express what I've seen now.   
First of all, I think it is necessary to anticipate some things: I am locked in my hotel room, always on top of the roof, despite the promises of the girl at the reception, with the entire mattress of the bed pushed against the French window, in addition to the usual dresser, of course.   
To say I'm afraid is to say nothing, and to say I'm going crazy is a derisory thing.   
You have no idea what I saw, anyway I'll try to explain it to you, but only after I confess something to you.   
Please don't mention it to George, at least for the moment, because otherwise his health would receive such a big blow that I don't know if he would recover.   
We have to go back to the night when I found Henry, two months ago, when we were all still gathered in Scotland.   
As you will remember, after the countless disappearances in our area and after my niece had seen a tall man with long dark hair and bright eyes kill her neighbour, we decided to gather together, the four of us, you, me, Henry and George, in my house to organize shifts of guard and defense.   
That fateful night was your and George's turn to watch, while Henry and I rested in my room, not having the courage to close our eyes alone.   
You both know that, at some point in the night, I think it was around two in the morning, I don't remember exactly, I woke up, hearing a strong crash coming from downstairs.   
When I opened my eyes, Henry was not in my room, but had disappeared, out into thin air, so I got up, suspicious, and, armed with a peg and hammer, I had descended the stairs through the half-light of the living room.  
Once I arrived in the kitchen, I had found the window glass in pieces on the floor, next to the bled out body of our poor friend, now lifeless.   
This is what you saw with your own eyes, when you came home a few seconds later, drawn by my frightened scream, and this is what I have always maintained, at least until now.   
But it's time to tell the truth, to tell how the facts really unfolded that night.   
I've lied to you, and I regret it immensely.   
In truth, things went exactly as I have always told you, at least until I reached the kitchen, because there I found Henry still ALIVE.   
He too had woken up for the same reason, but had preceded me by a few minutes, hearing strange creaks that seemed to him to come from the roof (and this was correct, because the monster had landed on it, reaching the only unguarded window, the on in the kitchen, crawling along the wall:).   
I still remember his look and his last words as he said to me:   
"I think the vampire managed to get in"  
I was about to object that it was not possible, that you or George would certainly have noticed, but, just at that moment, the monster had plunged in a leap from the ceiling, where it had remained perched and hidden until then, directly on his throat.  
Even though I was equipped with what was needed to eliminate it, I had remained motionless to stare at them, unable to take even a single breath.   
And then, I ran away. I ran away, abandoning him to his fate, to lock myself in my room, until I had heard his moans fade in the dark.   
Then I opened the door again and went back down to the kitchen, finding him, this time, dead in earnest, and then I screamed, as loudly as I could.  
That's the truth about that night.   
That's why I decided to chase that murderer all the way to France, after he had also attacked George, only a few nights after his brother's death, and that you, very bravely, managed, unlike me, to save.   
I wanted to expiate in some way my guilt, the guilt of having left Henry in the hands of that . . . THING, thinking only of saving my neck at the cost of his.   
He truly saved my life that night, Alex. His death has left intact the veins in my body, and there is no greater shame for me than to admit this. But now the showdown has come, and I'm gonna pay for it.   
What I saw in Notre Dame today, I looked for his hideout and found it. But what I discovered. . . my God, my God, Alex! And all because of ME.   
Please, come soon, it's something I can't express in words; even if I were the greatest of writers I couldn't find suitable adjectives or descriptions to explain it to you.   
All I can tell you to do is run here as soon as possible. My life is in unimaginable danger.   
He's not alone, Alex. He's not alone. I was about to succeed in my intent, I had finally brought to light his coffin, in a crypt buried underground, when . . . obscene, monstrous . . . they will take me, now that I have discovered it. They're looking for revenge, they want me, they've come back from the other side to seize me. . . Alex, please join me, save me from this delirium!   
I'll enclose a map of the place where the coffins are, in case something happens to me in the meantime . . . I hear a noise outside the window, it seems like a scratch . . . what are these thumps on the roof? Let's pray the mattress will hold up. . .   
I have to find a way to save this letter. 

( illegible signature )


	7. Paris, wednesday july 25th, 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- graphic description of murder

George.   
I have reached Paris safe and sound, however there was a horrible surprise waiting for me: please forgive me for the shock I'm about to give you, given your not very good condition, but the circumstances do not allow me to keep quiet about this horrible fact, at the moment, so try not to get overwhelmed, and to hold back the pain.   
Our suspicions were unfortunately well-founded: our David is dead.   
That is why we have not received any more of his letters in the last few days.   
They killed him.   
The maid found him on the morning of July 19th, as I understand it, being my French rather stenteous, lying on the floor of the room, which was completely upside down.   
The hotel manager understandably panicked, since none of the guests, not even those closest to the room, had heard a single noise, apart from a few thumps on the roof (and we know what they were actually due to, don't we? ) and he had a dead man bleeding inexplicably to death in one of his best attics.   
The poor man called the police and rummaged and searched in search of an address to contact or to write to, in order to certify his death, but no one found anything, and by nothing I mean NOTHING, none of our letters that we had sent him, no documents . . . all vanished, disappeared.   
I can't explain why.   
In any case, I couldn't even give one last salute to poor David, since, after only 2 days without anyone claiming his body, they buried him.   
Why is that? After all, his was a murder case. . . yet the French commissioners decided to close ir as quickly as it had been opened: accidental death, the doctors said, I saw the report of his autopsy, and so they hurried to bury him, to quickly erase all traces.   
I believe that in them, besides the fear of bad publicity, there is an archaic superstition.  
They all saw his body, they showed me some photos that the forensic team had listlessly taken: for God's sake, George, what they did to our poor friend! And I say THEY, and I stress it, because the bites on Henry's body were a trifle compared to those that massacred David.   
I swear to you that if it hadn't been for the peculiar color of his eyes, a detail that has always distinguished him from us, would have been hard to recognize him. He also lacked a good portion of his neck. . . but let's not talk about that.   
After this whirlwind of monstrosity, I had time to sit back and reflect a little: we are left alone George, now it's just you and me.   
What started out as a union of forces against Evil, resulted in a massacre.   
Maybe ours was just an act of pride? I'm really starting to wonder if I should go on.   
Too many people have lost their lives in this absurd enterprise.   
The sun has now set: I will sleep here, for tonight, then, tomorrow, I will decide.   
Take care of yourself and bar doors and windows carefully, I recommend.   
If it's true that the devil has managed to gather new followers, then we've really come to an end. 

Alex


	8. Paris, saturday july 28th, 2001

George.   
Following your advice, I decided to stay.  
I have with me the map drawn by David, I know where to go, and I will try to be careful, but I must at least try to put an end to this torment, or I will never be able to look myself in the mirror again.   
I hope everything turns out okay and I get back safe and sound.   
I would be lying, if I did not tell you that I am afraid, indeed, of going down into that underground crypt full of its macabre horrors, especially alone, although I MUST do so, I have an obligation to the lives of David and Henry that I can absolutely not ignore.   
Before moving on to the action, George, I'll write you in these few lines what I want you to do for me, just in case something atrocious happens to me or in case I fade away like the others did. . .   
In my desk drawer, the one closed with the old iron key, you will find all the letters that David sent us in the past weeks: one of them, in particular, is of vital importance, the one with the illegible date, which I marked with a red stamp on the tab.   
Should you in the next few days lose track of me, open that drawer and read it, but I definitely order you not to do it otherwise.   
Don't ask me anything, I beg you.   
Also, in my private safe, the one hidden behind the Rembrandt, in my studio, are my shares, large cash and my will (I know you wouldn't want to hear me say this, but I have to do it). The combination is written in encrypted on the back of the picture, and the exact series to translate it is transcribed inside the book on my nightstand.   
You know what to do if you never hear from me again.   
I'm not sure what David saw, and I don't know what could have terrified him so much, anyway I'm armed and determined in my purpose.   
Tomorrow, with the light, I'm going to face them before they cause any more terror.  
Forgive my brevity, but that's all. I have never been a talkative type, anyway, I have always had the tendency to reduce to the minimum necessary the reports of my events.   
Once the "mission" has been completed, I will write to you immediately. Say a few prayers for me in the meantime, and don't forget to barricade the entrances to the house at night.   
Sleeping in the room where David died is driving me crazy. . . I want to end this damn thing and leave as soon as possible!   
One last recommendation, not nice to say and horrible to listen to, but of vital importance: if I don't come back, RUN.   
Leave that house and run far where they can't catch you, save at least your life, do not let death take even the last of us.   
That's all there is.   
Goodbye, George. I'll write you soon, God willing. 

Alex


	9. From George Brewster's diary, Aberdeen, Friday  August 10th, 2001

Cold evening.   
The fog doesn't allow you to see more than one inch outside the glass.   
Today I tried to get out of bed again, finally successfully: the bite of the creature is disappearing and the virus left in my body slowly begins to extinguish.   
I walked around the rooms, to test my strength, but I'm still not able to stand up long: the dizziness is less violent than usual but still present and my intolerance to light does not seem to regress. I wonder if I'll ever see the sun again.   
I'm worried.   
It's been days since Alex's last letter, I hope something hasn't happened to him, and that the post office is the cause of the delay, anyway if tomorrow I haven't received his news yet, I'll do as he recommended in his last letter.   
I can't believe that David is dead too. . .   
It's all so crazy. I feel lonely and sometimes observed.   
My paranoia is getting worse, I can't stay locked up in these walls anymore, otherwise I'll go crazy.   
I curse the vampire for attacking me that night, causing me an evil worse than death.   
At times, I don't even feel so human anymore.   
I hate being alone, it leads me to have bad thoughts, and to brood, to remember. . . the death of Henry, for example.   
My poor brother, I miss you so much. I wish I'd followed you. . .   
God, I'm starting over again.   
I absolutely must heal before drowning in my follies, and damn my soul for eternity. Where are you, Alex? Hurry and get back. . .


	10. From George Brewster's diary, Aberdeen, Sunday, August 12th, 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- graphic mentions/description of suicide

Alex didn't write and didn't come back. I really think something happened to him. I don't know what to think anymore. . .  
This afternoon, I'll open the envelope. Until then, I will rely on the hope of his sudden return.  
God protect me and don't make me go through his papers.  
…  
No news. Needless to, I suppose, wait any longer. . . I'll have to pull myself together and open that drawer.  
…  
This can't be true, what I read. It can't be! It must be a mistake, a horrible nightmare. . . David, David, guilty, abandoned my brother in the moment of need, in the hands of that devil? He, who was so fearless. . .  
No words and no river of tears can express my pain and disappointment.  
How could he have done such a thing, so cowardly and mean? And he LIED to us. . . when I think about how much I suffered, when I heard about his death, the blood in my veins is boiling again!  
I hate him, as much as it's not fair or manly to take it out on the dead!  
And even if it's inhuman or it's still that monster's virus that's talking for me, I say it: he got what he deserved! For my Faith, I should forgive him, but I don't know if I can really find this strength.  
I'm gonna have to take some time to reflect and understand. I see now why Alex didn't want me to know, and I thank him for protecting me: until a few days ago, such a blow, in my condition, would have been fatal.  
Now I need to worry about my future and hiz, so. . . a ring at the door? God, let it be Alex. I need his help right now. I'd better meet him.  
…  
It wasn't Alex, it was a letter.  
Very strange, actually: bound and elegant paper, fine ink and no stamps, nor senders.  
It can't be his, but then who's it from? I still need to open it. There might be some important information on his condition.  
…  
These are my last lines, in case one day they ever find this diary.  
My life is about to end, God forgive the act I'm about to perform, but even if it leads me to Hell, I will never allow those beings to have me in their cirle of Satan's worshipers!  
I can't allow it, and I can't let them do it to me! Alex was right to tell me to run away, but he couldn't know, he couldn't imagine. . .  
But now I know.  
I know what David saw that day in the crypt, and I know why his documents disappeared after his death. I also know by whom his last letter came home and I found out what happened to Alex.  
I was left alone with no way out.  
They're all dead.  
I don't know what madness has ever let us believe that we had any control over that vile thing, but it was precisely this presumption and false superiority of ours that destroyed us. We have always been powerless in reality, and only now, in the end, have we been able to see.  
He was in charge from the beginning, he was never in danger, he played with our illusions and knocked us down, one after the other, like the pawns of a board game.  
It's over. We've lost.  
Now there is no more time for this, I must act quickly: the sun is at dusk, it has been raining incessantly for hours, now. Soon they'll be here. . . I have to beat them to the punch.  
Gun's already loaded.  
I'm sorry Alex, Henry, and David. I didn't want it to end this way. . . this sad story brought out the worst in each of us.  
The clock is striking eight, time is running against me.  
My hour has come: may God have mercy on my soul.  
Henry, my brother, I loved you very much, and, Alex, you were a good friend.  
David, I hope God will forgive you for what you did to us.  
Forgive your weak friend too, who prefers to give himself an honorable death to escape.  
I love you.


	11. Letter without sender to Mr George Brewster, Aberdeen, Sunday August 12th, 2001

Dear Mr. Brewster,  
I know you and your friends have been looking for me for a very long time: well, you found me!  
Unfortunately, Alex Mitchell, David Reynolds and his dear brother Henry have paid dearly for the consequences.  
Sorry to give you this news so abruptly, I know you're still trying to get back from our last meeting, however I just wanted to offer you my tributes and announce my imminent visit to your beautiful mansion.  
Wonderful land, Scotland, I will be more than happy to return to stay there. . . of course as YOUR guest.  
In anticipation of our next meeting, I extend my respects to you. 

Count Vladimir Dracula 

P. S. I leave the last lines to certain people of your knowledge who so wish to see you again. 

\----------------- 

Dearest George,  
what a pleasure it is to rewrite you!  
By the handwriting you must certainly have recognized me . . . really peculiar meeting, the one with the Count, what an incredible and bizarre man and how much he can teach!  
I'm sure you'll appreciate him, too. Everyone does.  
Be good, and leave the windows open for us tonight. . . me and the others so eagerly wish to embrace you again! 

With affection, your old companions

Alex  
David  
Your brother Henry


End file.
